


Control-Freak

by perdiccas



Series: Interlocking 'Verse [5]
Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: Angst, BDSM, Gunplay, Handcuffs, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-07-15
Updated: 2009-07-14
Packaged: 2017-10-02 10:51:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perdiccas/pseuds/perdiccas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mohinder discovers a kink he didn't know he had. He doesn't want to scare Matt off by acting on it; mild bondage and gun!kink.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Set after Interlocking and Fireworks but can be read as a stand alone.
> 
> Winner Best Kink @ the M3 Fic Awards  
> Winner Best Sex Scene @ the M3 Fic Awards

Despite how Matt sometimes teases him, Mohinder doesn’t consider himself a control-freak. He isn’t bothered when Matt makes the tea, directly into mugs with those awful American teabags he likes so much, instead of using tealeaves and a pot, letting it brew exactly to Mohinder’s preference. He doesn’t mind that Matt is always running late, or running early, because for some reason Matt can never seem to run on time. When Mohinder’s careful day plans get quashed in favour of spontaneity, impulsiveness and a devil-may-care attitude, he really feels only the mildest irritation. The sarcastic jibes he utters are intended to tease not scold.

 

The only time when Mohinder could recall the epithet being anywhere close to fitting, he had quashed his need for control deep inside. He is not controlled by his desire for control. Matt and Molly had been roughhousing. Molly’s hair had streamed out behind her as she shrieked and raced about the apartment. Matt’s voice had boomed through the air as he lurched after her with an exaggeratedly comic gait. Mohinder had been sitting behind his desk, attempting to work and trying to decipher at what point between his childhood and Molly’s hide and seek had become such a rambunctious game. Molly had careened around the couch. Matt had been closing in and she had looked over her shoulder, perhaps to laugh at Matt’s antics or to toss a school-yard taunt in his direction. One misstep and she had tumbled to the floor, colliding with the side of Mohinder’s desk and dislodging several precariously stacked piles of paper. Mohinder had been at her side in a second, Matt a second later. Hours of painstaking work had been ruined in one careless moment.

 

Even as Mohinder had pulled Molly up and checked her over for scrapes and bruises, he had felt the anger welling up inside him. Although unhurt, her lip had trembled as she blinked back tears at his expression. A tense silence had filled the room. Mohinder had felt the admonishments pressing at his lips, words that left a sour taste on his tongue: _now look what you’ve done_, _why can’t you be more careful_, _go to your room_; words that Mohinder remembered his father hurling at him in anger. In the days when children were but an idle fantasy, they were words that he had sworn he would never repeat. Yet, in the moment, in the heat of his frustration, they had seemed to encapsulate all that Mohinder spitefully wanted to say. But, instead, he had bitten them back and laughed.

 

It had been an accident. Molly was a child; a child who had already been through too much. She deserved a chance to run, yell and play, a moment to forget what horrors she had been exposed to and an opportunity to cling to the innocence she miraculously still retained. Mohinder didn’t want Molly to ever feel as if his work was more important in his life than her. Mohinder knew all too well how much that could hurt.

 

If anything, the entire affair had been Mohinder’s fault. If he hadn’t been such a _stick in the mud_, as Molly claimed, and joined in, there would have been no papers to disrupt, no work to destroy. With all three of them crouching on the floor, surrounded by a scattered mess of printouts and lab results, tension so thick Mohinder had felt it pressing at his throat, there was nothing to do _but_ laugh. They had looked ridiculous.

 

One moment’s stunned silence and then Matt and Molly had been laughing too. They had laughed until their sides had ached and Molly had cried after all, but only from her uncontrollable giggles. Together they had gathered up all the sheets of paper. Mohinder had set them aside to deal with later, and, after a calm admonishment that they play more carefully around his desk from then on, they had abandoned roughhousing and research in favour of ice-cream and DVDs. After Molly had been put to bed, Matt had pulled him into a strong, firm embrace and kissed him deeply. He had confessed to thinking Mohinder had been on the verge of ‘freaking out’. He had explained that even _he_ was wary of approaching Mohinder’s desk, knowing as he did how Mohinder liked to keep everything within a specific organised chaos that was understood only to himself.

 

Just because Mohinder wasn’t a control-freak didn’t mean he didn’t like to be in control. He did. He always had. Rules, organisation and order appealed to him. He had built his life around the systematic methods of science and experimentation. Mohinder wasn’t one to sit back and wait for answers to come to him. He took charge of his life and determined his own destiny. Whether that meant making hard decisions: taking Matt in, shooting Bennett; or taking risky actions: moving to America, trusting the Company; Mohinder was confident in his ability to deal with the fallout of his own choices.

 

It comes as no surprise to him that on the rare nights in which he is troubled with nightmares and they do not feature Molly or Matt in danger, it is the recollection of Sylar that his subconscious selects as his own personal hell. Sylar, not because he is more powerful and dangerous than anyone Mohinder has ever encountered, and not because, despite their current respite, Sylar has targeted him specifically and repeatedly. Sylar because in those minutes trapped on the ceiling, pinned and utterly helpless, telekinesis closing his throat so that he could not even reason or negotiate, Mohinder had been, for the only time in his life, completely and wholly without choices.

 

Why then, Mohinder wonders, is his eye constantly drawn to the handcuffs that hang from Matt’s belt and the slight bulge in his jacket when his holster sits beneath? Why does he find a coil of envy unwinding in his gut whenever Matt speaks of the criminals he has apprehended: men he has slammed into walls, trapped against their will and held completely at his mercy? Why, when Mohinder prizes his autonomy more than anything else, has he begun to fantasise about letting Matt take it away?

 

At first Mohinder thinks it is a simple association. Mohinder finds Matt arousing. Every morning Mohinder sees Matt hook the cuffs to his belt and nestle the holster against his side. Ergo, Mohinder associates the gun and the cuffs with Matt’s presence, his strong body and his overwhelming masculinity. But when Matt comes home late one night, exhausted, and shrugs off his jacket, unclasps the holster and throws the cuffs on the kitchen table in one fluid, practised motion, Mohinder knows there is something more to his fascination. He finds himself holding the cold metal in his hand, fingering the short chain and the hard, uncompromising edges. When he looks up, he finds Matt staring at him and the cuffs in his hand. Blushing, Mohinder puts them down, being too forceful in his haste and making the apartment ring with the metallic clatter. He clears his throat and busies himself making Matt tea. With a shake of his head he tries to dislodge from his mind the image of those gleaming, cruel cuffs cutting into the soft skin of his wrists.  

 

Mohinder knows firsthand that one’s outward persona is not necessarily an indication of one’s preferences in the bedroom. After all, Mira, who had been so concerned with propriety and image in public, had, in private, flown in the face of the modesty and decorum expected by Chennai society. It was she, not Mohinder, who had known all the secret locations where they could go to be together, away from prying eyes and wagging tongues. It was she who had persuaded Mohinder to sneak away from their academic conference and retire her hotel room. It had been Mira, not Mohinder, who had lied, impromptu and seamlessly, when a fellow academic had caught them in the hall and challenged their presence. It was Mira, known to all the world as a chaste and modest young woman, who had broken down Mohinder’s defences and pushed aside his notions of chivalry on the night they had first made love.

 

Matt too was not at night the way his day job would suggest. His arms, so strong, never hold Mohinder down against his will. His chest, so broad and unyielding, never crushes the air from Mohinder’s lungs as he presses him into the mattress. His hands and fingers, wide and thick, move with an unexpected grace and a tender, nimble touch. Not once has Matt been rough or demanding. He has never used his greater size and weight to impose and intimidate. But now, Mohinder finds himself wishing that perhaps, just once, he would.

 

Unlike Matt and Mira, Mohinder has never had a secret side that emerges only in the throes of passion. When making love, as with everything else that he does, Mohinder likes to take control. He cannot bear to be passive or to simply lie back and be pleasured. Mohinder likes to set the pace and keep the rhythm. He wants to be the one that determines how fast and how deep it will be. Even when Mohinder is the one being penetrated, he much prefers to straddle Matt and guide their thrusting hips than lie below him, unable to do anything but cry out in ecstasy. When Mohinder comes he wants it to be at his discretion, on his schedule and with the knowledge that Matt has already reached that peak.

 

The biggest mental hurdle Mohinder has had to overcome was not the transition from having sex with women to having sex with another man. After all, Mohinder never thinks of it in those terms, Matt is simply the one he loves. No, his biggest stumbling block had been the initial panic that came when realising that, ignorant as he was of the finer mechanics of what he and Matt were to do, he would have to relinquish his preferred role. When finally they had acquired a large and spacious double bed and Mohinder felt he knew Matt’s body well enough to move with confidence, he had thrilled to take back the upper hand.

 

Mohinder had flipped over on the bed, his head to Matt’s hips. While Matt stared, nonplussed for a moment at the change in position, he had taken Matt’s hard length between his lips. They had worked each other, tentatively at first, with soft licks and sucks. This position of mutual pleasure had long been a favourite of Mohinder’s, but it took a few attempts for him to adjust to being the shorter of the pair and to figure out the angle when faced with a cock. With Matt’s lips mouthing along his dick and his own tongue swirling and lapping at Matt’s they had found a pattern that worked. For Mohinder, nothing could compare to the pleasure that came with the mounting heat in his groin and simultaneously feeling Matt’s muscles tighten under his hands, knowing that Matt was feeling the same rush and wash of ecstasy. Mohinder may prefer intercourse for intimacy, loving to kiss Matt’s lips and stare deep into his eyes. But when he needs to get off, hard and fast, Mohinder would always choose to sixty-nine.

 

At the back of his mind, where he keeps thoughts too embarrassing to utter aloud or too trite to admit, even to himself, Mohinder thinks it symbolic that he and Matt fit together so many nights like ying and yang. During sex, and life, they are the perfect counterpoint and balance to each other. Unlike Mohinder’s previous lovers, Matt doesn’t reserve this act that brings them both such pleasure for special occasions. They find themselves lying top to tail, panting and spent, so often that Matt has joked Mohinder should just move his pillow to the foot of the bed.

 

It had been a relief to learn that Matt is as vanilla in his likes and dislikes as Mohinder is. It had been a joy to find that once Matt had taught Mohinder what he needed to know, he was more than willing to let Mohinder take the lead. Neither had any inclination towards the kinky or bizarre. There were no unexpected confessions of fetishes, either tame or unspeakable. For once Mohinder found himself with a kindred spirit and in a relationship wholly without a desire for toys and games to distract from the unequalled delight of just being together. Never had Mohinder been with someone so in tune with his sexual needs. Knowing that Matt could read him with such uncanny accuracy even without the use of his telepathy made Mohinder think of ridiculous things like kismet and fate. The unexpected perfection of what they have achieved, almost by chance, makes Mohinder loath to bring up his sudden, inexplicable obsession with Matt’s handcuffs. He doesn’t want to shatter what they have with a whim. Especially as it is a whim Mohinder isn’t sure he will enjoy being pandered to.

 

So he holds his tongue. He keeps a vigilant watch on himself and ensures that he only stares when Matt is not aware. Never again does he slip up and fondle the metal cuffs where Matt can watch him in bemusement. When, as the days go by, he finds himself asking Matt to take him from behind, his hands clutching the headboard in self-imposed bondage, it is something Mohinder chooses not to worry about. If, when Molly is tucked in bed and Matt is working late to close a case, Mohinder finds himself weighing the spare pair of cuffs in his palm and palming his erection with his other hand then that is something private he chooses not to share. On Saturday mornings as Molly and Matt sit together and watch cartoons, Mohinder’s schedule suddenly features a covert trip to their bedroom. He needs to finger the supple leather of the empty holster that hangs causally off their bedpost and to take a quick sniff of the scent imbued within it. It smells of Matt, his skin and his sweat, and an acrid hint of gunpowder. Mohinder stands alone, with one ear listening, in fear of being discovered. If with every passing Saturday Mohinder’s peculiar little ritual becomes longer and he finds himself becoming more aroused, all he can do is helplessly lie to himself that this is nothing but a passing phase.

 

Mohinder congratulates himself for his relative self-control. He tells himself that the cracks in his façade are too subtle and too well-concealed to raise Matt’s suspicions. He is convinced that without looking into his mind, Matt will never know the perversions that are now constantly swirling around his thoughts. It is not just that this new desire to be cuffed and manhandled unnerves Mohinder, unsure as he is of why it intrigues him and unconvinced as he remains that the reality would match his increasingly elaborate fantasies. It is more than the flush embarrassment that he feels at just the thought of verbalising his desires. Mohinder feels caught in a Catch-22. He doesn’t want Matt to deny him this but he doesn’t want Matt to agree only to placate him. Mohinder would rather avoid both possibilities by keeping his new predilection to himself.

 

The possibility that Matt might enjoy shoving him against a wall and taking him roughly hangs like a brass ring just out of reach: tempting and tantalising, yet ultimately unrealistic. Matt’s handcuffs and his gun are the tools of his job, and Mohinder is sure that work is the last thing Matt wants to think when they’re having sex. Mohinder knows that he had quickly tired of past girlfriends who had wanted nothing more than to play the naughty pupil to his stern professor. He can vividly recall the effort of indulging them, being caring and attentive to their needs but never deriving from the role-play a fraction of the pleasure that they seemed to. It makes his stomach turn to think of putting Matt in such a position. Worse still Mohinder fears that indulging once might do nothing but fuel his ridiculous kink. What if, in adding this new and unexplored element to their relationship, Mohinder found they weren’t the perfect match he had imagined them to be? What if he did nothing but prove that kismet and fate had had no hand in their partnership after all?

 

****

 

Mohinder and Molly join Matt at their favourite pizza place for their weekly break from Mohinder’s healthy cooking. Sitting out on the patio, with the rumble of the quiet street and the chatter of lively conversations washing over them, he lets himself take a moment to admire Matt. His tie is loosened and his top button undone. He has rolled up his sleeves to his elbows. The muscles of his forearms are bulging and rippling as he mimes out the actions for some farfetched story that has Molly hanging on his every word. Mohinder tries not to look. He bites the inside of his cheek and attempts to follow the convoluted journey Matt’s words are weaving but his eyes keep getting drawn back. Matt has presence. He is in his element, the centre of Molly’s attention and playing her for laughs. The holster is strapped to Matt’s side, moving with him as his gestures grow wilder and wilder. It fits seamlessly with who Matt is and clings to him like an extension of his body. Mohinder thinks that maybe his obsession stems from a desire to know all the sides to who Matt is. He has never seen Matt at work, tough and uncompromising, keeping the peace. Perhaps it isn’t so much that Mohinder wants to be tossed around like a criminal but that he wants to see Matt in his element, exploiting his strength and power instead of minimizing it for Mohinder’s pleasure.

 

‘… Doc. Hey, Doc! Mohinder!’

 

Matt’s voice shakes him from his sudden epiphany. Molly is giggling into her napkin and punches him lightly on the arm.

 

‘You alright?’

 

Mohinder flushes. He realises he must have been staring for a good long while. Who knows how long they have been trying to get his attention while he sat and ogled Matt, thinking about sex. He nods and sinks into his seat, trying to think of some direction he can point the conversation that will belie his mortification.

 

Before he can speak there is a sudden commotion behind him. Matt is out of his seat almost before the words _stop thief_ have rung in the air. Mohinder wonders if Matt had heard the cry telepathically. Did he pick up on the purse snatchers thoughts, or is his almost instantaneous reaction the result of years of training? Molly clutches at his hand, a mixture of terror and excitement plays across her face. Mohinder gathers her into his arms and lets her bury her face in his shoulder, peeking out between half-closed eyes to watch the scene unfold. Matt closes the distance between himself and the criminal in what seems like less then five easy steps. They are hardly halfway down the street, still in full view of the restaurant patio when Matt grabs the offender by the shoulder, spins him and slams him face first into the side of a parked car. Mohinder can’t hear him but he can imagine Matt reeling off the Miranda rights in a clear and authoritative voice. He can see him slap on the handcuffs, the motion slick and effortless. Mohinder’s mouth goes dry and he focuses on comforting Molly to circumvent the inappropriate thoughts that desperately try to claim his attention.

 

Matt frogmarches the perp back to the restaurant. Mohinder is sure he is staring again, this time in open mouthed admiration as Matt takes control of the situation with well practiced ease. He calls in the arrest and returns the stolen bag, deflecting thanks with a self-deprecating smile. Matt catches Mohinder’s eye and, of all things, mouths an apology as he waits with one firm hand on the thief’s shoulder for backup to arrive.

 

As soon as Matt hands the arrest over to the uniformed officers, Molly twists out of Mohinder’s embrace and runs at Matt full tilt. She wraps her arms around him and he scoops her up, swinging her around and laughing as she tells the restaurant that Matt is her hero. Matt shifts uncomfortably from foot to foot as the display garners applause from the other patrons and good natured ribbing from his fellow officers. Mohinder flushes with pride. Matt _is_ a hero. When everyone settles down and they return to their meal, the restaurant insists on presenting them with more food than they could ever eat and a bottle of their best red wine. The mood is celebratory. Matt and Molly sink deep into an animated conversation about heroes and villains. Molly is convinced that Matt is better than Superman.

 

Mohinder tries to join in but they’re talking about the cartoon shows he never watches and the references go over his head. He just smiles absently in encouragement. All he can think about is Matt: Matt slamming _him_ into a car, Matt securing _his_ hands behind his back, Matt’s fingers digging deep into _his_ biceps and leaving them bruised and sore. To Mohinder’s shame his trousers begin to feel tight. He shifts in his seat and drains his wineglass, trying desperately to focus on cricket scores and genetic markers to ward off his arousal. Neither Matt nor Molly, thank goodness, have noticed his discomfort. He hopes against hope that he has no reason to stand in the near future because, try as he might, his dick seems determined to stay at half-mast.

 

By the time they leave, the restaurant is mostly empty. The moon is high in the dark night sky and Molly is asleep on her feet. Matt bundles her up in his arms despite her mumbled protests and carries her the short walk home. He slips his other hand into Mohinder’s. With a squeeze and a concerned look, Matt pulls Mohinder alongside him. Mohinder just smiles weakly. He knows he has been acting awkward and distracted but he can’t help himself. At least the darkness has kept his inappropriate hardness from Matt’s notice.

 

When they reach the apartment, Mohinder darts into the bathroom. He locks the door and leans back against the cool tile, almost unable to believe the state he finds himself in when he examines his reflection. His hair is a mess. His clothes are rumpled. His throbbing erection is painfully obvious between his legs. Mohinder pulls at his crotch in an attempt to relieve the tension but he only grows stiffer and aches more insistently. He splashes cold water on his face, trying to pull himself together. He needs to file away this memory and this arousal. He can deal with it in the morning, jerking off in the shower. Mohinder is certain that after tonight’s arrest, Matt will be in no mood to play cops and robbers.

 

‘Mohinder?’

 

Matt’s voice is a low whisper accompanied by a single knock on the bathroom door. Mohinder presses the heels of his hands to his eyes. A quiet whine escapes as he scrabbles to regain control of his body. In desperation he untucks his shirt and hopes it will do something to conceal his tenting trousers. With a deep breath he opens the door and comes face to face with Matt. He cradles Mohinder’s face in his palm. Looking deep into his eyes, Matt frowns and seems to be struggling to find the words he wants to say.

 

‘Mohinder, are you ok?’

 

‘Of course!’

 

Mohinder tries to be airy and light but even to his ears his voice sounds forced. Matt takes him by the hand and leads him to the sofa. Mohinder cross his legs immediately. He squirms on the cushions while Matt paces about the living room.

 

‘Ok, Mohinder. I’m sorry about tonight.’

 

Mohinder shakes his head. He isn’t quite sure what Matt is getting at. Before he can open his mouth though, Matt continues.

 

‘I know you haven’t wanted to say anything, but I’ve seen you staring at my gun. Don’t think I haven’t noticed the dirty looks you’ve been giving my handcuffs when you think I’m not looking.’

 

Mohinder wants the carpet to open up and swallow him whole. The cracks in his façade had been more than cracks. They have been open gaping windows that Matt had stared straight into, most likely with disgust. Mohinder’s face burns but Matt barely seems to notice as he keeps talking.

 

‘It’s ok to be scared, Mohinder. You have to understand though; I’m trained at what I do. I can’t promise that nothing bad is ever going to happen to me but scenes like tonight… I don’t usually just jump up and take down the bad guys, y’know? I sit behind a desk. I make phone calls. And when things do go down? I’m standing behind a swat team in a bullet-proof vest, ok?’ Matt crouches in front of him. His hand is on Mohinder’s knee, rubbing soothing circles into the cloth of his trousers. ‘I’m careful. I don’t want Molly to lose another parent. I don’t want you… Just trust me, Mohinder. I’m careful. So… is this gonna be a deal breaker?’

 

‘What?’

 

‘Mohinder, look… Janice and I… the problems started way before she cheated on me. She didn’t understand how important being a cop is to me and she couldn’t deal with the danger. If you… if that’s a problem then we need to talk about it now because it’s not going to just go away. It’s ok…’ Matt looks at the carpet. When he speaks his voice is just a whisper. ‘I’ve been getting the feeling you’ve been working up to saying something these past few weeks. Be straight with me Mohinder, if you need to end this then just do it.’


	2. Chapter 2

Slowly Matt’s words sink in. Mohinder realises that he has been wrong about them from the start. He and Matt don’t have some heaven sent romance or an immutable connection. They are stumbling through blindly just like any other couple. Instead of capturing the first blush of their love and keeping it forever unchanged, by not communicating with Matt he has made things worse. It has been Mohinder’s decision and Mohinder’s choice but now he feels completely without control. He comes to see that they were never his choices to make without Matt.

 

He leans forward and tilts Matt’s head up. The anxious look in his eyes makes Mohinder’s heart ache. He presses their lips together in a deep and tender kiss. He can feel Matt’s breath against his mouth and tastes the pizza still lingering on his tongue. Mohinder strokes his cheek. He wants to kick himself for making Matt feel this way. For weeks he has been so involved in his own desires that he has failed entirely to think of Matt’s needs. It is not his cracks that have been artfully concealed but Matt’s.

 

He pulls out of the kiss with a sigh. Matt’s hand on his knee is clenching tightly. Mohinder wants to chase away his memories of Janice and her betrayal. He needs Matt to know that he never has to fear that Mohinder will behave the same way. But what leg does he have to stand on? Hasn’t Mohinder been concealing and deceiving just as she had? Mohinder’s stomach lurches and he knows he will have to come clean, to face Matt’s rejection and scorn.

 

‘No, Matt. I don’t want to end this at all,’ Mohinder mumbles against his cheek.

 

‘Then what is it?’

 

Instead of answering, Mohinder takes Matt’s hand from his knee and presses it against his crotch. Matt’s fingers instinctively curl to cup his cock, still stiff inside his trousers. Mohinder bites his lip. His eyes flutter shut as Matt’s wide palm massages his length and he moans when Matt’s thumb rubs circles where his tip strains against his fly. He frames Matt’s face with his hands, dropping breathless kisses on his lips, chin and cheeks. Matt breaks away with a grunt of confusion.

 

‘Mohinder, I don’t understand. What’s going on with you?’

 

Mohinder blushes and tries to find the words to explain all the conflicting thoughts and confusing desires that have been swirling in his head. He drops his hands to Matt’s shoulders and leans their foreheads together. Mohinder wants to make Matt understand but he has never felt as inarticulate as he does at that moment. He needs to comfort Matt and dispel his fears but to his dismay the words seem to die in his throat. He mouths along Matt’s cheek bone and presses his lips to Matt’s ear. Squeezing his eyes shut, Mohinder makes a decision and steels himself for the consequences.

 

‘Read my mind’

 

To Mohinder’s surprise, Matt pulls back completely. He has to brace himself on Matt’s broad shoulders to stop himself from toppling forward and off the sofa. Matt is chewing on his lip and shaking his head.

 

‘Mohinder… no.’ Matt’s hands flail in the air as he opens and closes his mouth repeatedly, each half-started sentence abandoned with a shrug of his shoulders. He brings his fist to his forehead, shutting his eyes for a moment and with a grunt of frustration, starts again. ‘Ok, look… Mohinder, you’ve always been very clear that your head is out of bounds. Always. I don’t know what’s going on but whatever it is you can talk to me. I don’t need to invade your privacy like that.’

 

‘It’s not an invasion if I ask you to look. Please, Matt. I need you to look, I trust you.’ Mohinder knows he sounds desperate, but he doesn’t care because he _is_ desperate. He can think of no way to verbalise the weeks of emotions he has been keeping inside and no way to explain why he hadn’t just told Matt what he wanted from the start. Faced with Matt’s very real fears and insecurities, Mohinder’s seem petty and juvenile. He trusts Matt not to delve deeper into his mind than he has consented to. Suddenly, it was vitally important to him that Matt accept that trust. ‘Please.’

 

Mohinder tugs Matt up by his arms and they sit side by side on the sofa. Matt looks distraught but defiant, as if, despite Mohinder’s words, he fully expects to find thoughts of break up and distance in Mohinder’s mind. With a deep breath he cocks his head and his brow furrows. Mohinder floods his consciousness with every thought that has niggled and harassed him. He doesn’t hold back or try to conceal, everything is on display: his anxieties and insecurities; his rough, masturbatory fantasies; his overwhelming need for Matt to understand and not push him away. He can see Matt’s eyes flickering under his closed lids, his head just barely swaying as he scans through Mohinder’s memory.

 

Matt reels backwards, releasing Mohinder’s consciousness. ‘Shit, Mohinder. You have a graphic imagination.’ Almost before the words have been spoken, Matt is crushing their lips together. Now it is Mohinder’s turn to reel because of all the possible outcomes, this, the one he desired the most, is the one he was least expecting. Mohinder’s lips part in surprise and instantly Matt’s tongue is there, forcing Mohinder to open wider and claiming his mouth. Matt growls, deep and low in his throat. Mohinder can feel the vibrations against his lips and the rumble seems to rocket through his body, settling at the base of his dick, sending hormones shooting in every direction. Matt’s hand is fisting in his hair and holding him almost painfully tight. He tilts his head further, nipping and pulling at Mohinder’s lips.

 

Every part of Mohinder’s body seems to ache and throb with want. His lips are swollen and raw. His cock is heavy and engorged. His skin is prickling, and he feels delirious and light-headed as blood pounds furiously through his veins. While Mohinder clutches helplessly at Matt’s shirt, he attempts to make sense of the situation. Not five minutes ago he and Matt seemed to be at complete cross-purposes, now with Matt’s growing erection grinding against his leg there is no doubt that they are completely in tune.

 

When Matt yanks him up by the shoulders and forcefully guides him backwards to their bedroom, Mohinder decides to stop thinking and just give in to what is happening. He trusts Matt utterly and he chooses to let Matt take control. The buttons are ripped from his shirt as Matt pulls it open and shoves it to the ground. Wide, warm palms are skating down his chest. Matt’s fingers wrestle with his belt, tearing it from his trousers and tossing it aside. He has one hand shoved down the front of Mohinder’s boxers and uses the other to hold his wrists behind his back.

 

With a chuckle, Matt steps back. Mohinder whines and tries to step forwards but with just one hand Matt has rendered him immobile. He tries to twist and squirm, to get Matt to stroke and pleasure him once more but Matt just stares at his face and waits for him to still. ‘Are you sure this is what you want?’

 

Mohinder nods. In an instant he is being spun around. He lands against the wall with a dull smack. The impact is hard against his cheek and his limbs quiver with anticipation. On pure instinct he struggles as Matt’s superior weight and muscle bear down on him from behind. Matt starts to pull back, but Mohinder forces his body to go limp, resting pressed up against the wall. ‘Please, Matt.’

 

He is panting and moaning. Matt is wrenching his trousers and boxers down, his hands cupping and fondling in their wake. Mohinder toes off his shoes and kicks away everything that has bunched around his ankles. He feels Matt’s palm rest solidly between his shoulder blades. He presses down, holding him more firmly against the wall as Mohinder hears the soft slide of a drawer being opened. Matt rifles through the contents, swearing under his breath as he gropes blindly for the spare cuffs.

 

A small _yes_ of triumph is all the warning Mohinder receives before the cold, hard metal is biting into his wrists. All the air rushes from his lungs as Matt’s hot, firm body traps his arms between them and the chill of the cuffs settles on his lower back. He can feel Matt’s hardness rubbing against his ass. Without Matt there to hold him up Mohinder is certain he would have collapsed. His head is swimming and his legs are trembling. It is everything that he has been fantasising about and yet so much better. Mohinder’s imagination could never have captured the immense love he feels for Matt at that exact moment, or his gratitude that Matt is willing to play this game with him.

 

Matt is sucking at his neck and nipping at his earlobe. He tries to move his arms, to reach his palms back and caress Matt’s stomach but all he achieves is a slow, aching burn in his shoulders. For a moment Mohinder thinks he will come then and there, caught between the unyielding wall and Matt’s body. The head of his dick is moving slickly along the painted surface. He thrusts his hips but the feeling is cool and unsatisfying, nothing like Matt’s deft fingers or the tight, incomparable heat of his ass.

 

Fingers are digging into his hip. Mohinder cries out, feeling himself bruise under the rough grip, but Matt slaps his hand over his mouth and muffles his protests. Mohinder is flipped around, his back to the wall and Matt replaces his hand with his lips. He swallows Mohinder’s groans and thrusts his knee between Mohinder’s legs. He whines into Matt’s kiss as his cock grinds into the scratchy wool of his trousers. Mohinder’s dick is dripping everywhere, making a mess and staining Matt’s suit but neither can spare a thought to care about dry cleaning. Their musk hangs thickly in the air. All of Mohinder’s senses are overcome with the signs of their arousal.

 

Slowly, Matt breaks the kiss. Mohinder leans forward to try and keep the contact, pushing away from the wall with his bound wrists. Matt just presses him back with barely a nudge of his hand. Mohinder is nothing compared to Matt’s strength and he is wholly at the larger man’s mercy. They inhale shuddery breaths. Mohinder is pleased to note Matt’s flushed cheeks and the damp patch in his crotch that is not solely the result of Mohinder’s wetness.

 

Locking their eyes, Matt pulls the gun from its holster. He squeezes Mohinder’s shoulder tightly and Mohinder understands that he is to stay still and not distract him. He licks his lips as he watches Matt remove the bullets. He holds up the gun and shows Mohinder the empty chamber, waiting until Mohinder nods his approval before closing it and clicking on the safety. Matt cradles the revolver in his palm with the easy grace borne of years of training. It is second nature for him to point the barrel to the ground and Mohinder worries that Matt will baulk at levelling the weapon at him, even unloaded. Then, the cool mouth of the barrel is sinking into the soft flesh of his stomach.

 

Goose pimples erupt on his skin. Mohinder feels as if his every nerve ending has migrated to the area above his navel currently covered by the cold metal. The sensation is intense. Without thinking Mohinder tries to bring his hands forward but they are held fast by the cuffs. The sharp edges cut into his skin, making him cry out when he feels his flesh abraded. Mohinder’s cock twitches, jumping at the flood of hormones in his groin. His arousal, already almost beyond what Mohinder can bear, reaches new heights. He lets his head fall back against the wall with a dull thud. He arches his back. His hips rock forward but Matt has seen the effect the gun is having on him and pulls his own hips away to tease. Mohinder just writhes against the wall. He is rubbing his ass over the hard handcuffs and he knows his skin will be red and raw by the time they are done. Mohinder is panting, swearing and moaning, fucking the air because he can’t ride his own palm or thrust against Matt.

 

‘Jesus, Mohinder,’ Matt mutters. His voice is breathless and he follows his words with a throaty chuckle. The sound rumbles through Mohinder’s body and he finds it excruciatingly erotic. He opens his eyes to find Matt staring at him in open mouthed awe. Mohinder smirks; it is good to know that he isn’t the only one getting off on this. Matt drags the gun slowly up his torso, pressing the barrel into his skin just hard enough to skirt the line of pleasure and pain. The metal, by now warm with the heat of Mohinder’s body, is bouncing over his ribs and running along his clavicle. Matt steps closer. He traces the gun up the line of Mohinder’s neck, following his vein as it pulses hotly under his skin. With the revolver pointing straight up, the mouth nestled under Mohinder’s chin, Matt tilts his head up and captures Mohinder’s lips in a searing kiss.

 

It is rough and raw, filled with teeth and growls. Mohinder knows he has never experienced lust as purely as he does at that moment. The gun is scraping against his stubble, as Matt caresses his jaw. The buttons of Matt’s shirt are leaving red welts down his bare torso and the buckle of his belt is digging into the soft muscles of his abdomen. Mohinder hooks his ankle around the back of Matt’s knees, forcing him to lean onto his body. Matt grunts at the contact and Mohinder whimpers, his arms wrenched behind him with the exquisite pressure. Their teeth clack together but they don’t break the kiss. The gun is sliding down Mohinder’s neck again. This time it is the side, not the mouth of the barrel that is stroking him and Mohinder can feel every dip and groove in the revolver as it brushes over him.

 

Matt circles the barrel around Mohinder’s nipple. He flicks the gun upwards, teasing the hard nub and making Mohinder buck against him. Up and down, spiralling around and pressing over Mohinder’s heart, Matt is merciless with the touch. Then the gun is drifting lower, ghosting down his side and inching down the groove of his hip. As Matt’s teeth tug at his bottom lip, he uses the gun to rub Mohinder’s erection. The metal is hard against the side of his dick and it is like nothing Mohinder has ever experienced before. The gun is groping him everywhere: circling his base, pressing tenderly against his sac, sliding smoothly up his shaft and gliding over the head. It is wonderful and terrible at the same time. It is vulgar, crude, a violation Mohinder should object to but it is also sensual and carnal – he never wants it to stop.

 

Matt rolls the rim of the barrel on very tip of Mohinder’s cock, collecting his pre-come on the metal. He brings the gun up between them and finally pulls out of the kiss. He holds the revolver to Mohinder’s lips. With one eyebrow raised, Mohinder flicks his tongue out and slowly licks a swathe though the stickiness that mars the gleaming metal. Matt groans at the sight and for a moment his eyes roll back. He presses the gun to Mohinder’s bottom lip and smears his pre-come along it, twisting the gun so that all the wetness is transferred. The gun catches on his lip and drags Mohinder’s mouth open. He swirls his tongue around the barrel, letting the tip dart down the inside and tasting the bitter grease that Matt uses to clean it.

 

Then the gun is gone, falling down to the side with Matt’s arms. Their mouths meet again and Mohinder’s essence is spread between their lips and coating their tongues. Mohinder’s taste fills their kiss as Matt nibbles and sucks at his bottom lip, cleaning it completely. With a strangled groan Mohinder falls to his knees, unable to stand the tease any longer. He presses his face to Matt’s crotch. He nuzzles the warm, damp wool that is straining over his groin. Inhaling Matt’s scent deeply, he traces the outline of Matt’s hard cock with his nose. Mohinder rubs his cheek up and down his length before travelling the same route with his open mouth. He pants a hot breath over the head, teasing Matt through the thick material.

 

‘Oh, _shit_! Mohinder!’

 

Matt’s hand fists in his hair, tugging him back. He struggles awkwardly to open his fly and hold the gun in the same hand, grunting in frustration at the time it takes to free his straining hardness. Matt’s erection is barely released before Mohinder’s mouth is on him. He feels a few hairs tear from the base of his scalp when he darts forward without warning. Matt slaps his hand against the wall, swearing as Mohinder eagerly licks up his length. He stretches up on his knees and sucks the tip between his lips, humming as he bobs his head. The gun is trailing up the front of his neck, playing over his Adam’s apple and along his jaw line. Mohinder tilts his head to let the head of Matt’s cock press against the inside of his cheek. Matt brings the gun up to caress the side of his face and fondle his cock as it lies within the hot wetness of Mohinder’s mouth. Slowly, he pulls back, swirling his tongue and slurping up Matt’s pre-come. He releases Matt with an obscene _pop_, swallowing loudly and grinning at his own vulgar display. Matt looks down and their eyes meet, pupils shot wide with desire.

 

‘_Fuck me_,’ Mohinder begs.


	3. Chapter 3

Matt steadies Mohinder as he stands again. With his hands still held fast behind his back, he presses his body flush against Matt’s for support, wriggling in a way that has Matt whimpering under his breath. Matt’s broad palm is cupping his ass, his fingers digging in and pulling Mohinder’s hips tightly against his own. Their bodies rock together, their erections sliding alongside each other. The gun is resting on the top of Mohinder’s ass and he stretches his fingertips down to tickle Matt’s finger, curled around the trigger.

 

‘Get on the bed.’ Matt growls the instruction in his ear. He follows his words with a sharp, stinging slap to the side of Mohinder’s ass. Mohinder bites off a yelp at the impact, mindful of Molly sleeping down the hall. He drags himself to the bed, reluctant to pull away from Matt’s kiss, his hands and his warmth but eager to feel Matt’s hard cock inside him. He climbs onto the bed, awkwardly, on his knees. The blankets bunch around his legs as he tries to the crawl to a more stable position at the centre of the bed. His entire body is trembling with want and arousal, and he lurches forward, overbalancing and unable to catch himself. Then, Matt is there, pulling him back by his shoulders and keeping him safe.

 

Matt presses wet kisses along his neck. He massages Mohinder’s shoulder blades, easing the burning muscles. He rubs down Mohinder’s arms and back up again, then traces the barrel of the gun over the undulations of his spine. The revolver catches on the chain of the handcuffs. Matt tugs downwards and Mohinder whines, arching his back as his arms are pulled back further. Just when the pain is about to supersede the pleasure, Matt stops. He lets the barrel roll loosely along the chain and then follows the line of the cuffs around each of Mohinder’s wrists.

 

He fists his hand in Mohinder’s curls, yanking his head back and to the side. Their mouths meet side-on in an awkward, biting kiss. ‘You’re fucking gorgeous,’ Matt mutters into his lips as he traces the mouth of the gun, feather light, along the cleft of Mohinder’s ass. As the hard metal moves lower, teasing between Mohinder’s thighs and nudging the back of his balls, Mohinder whispers in reply, ‘So are you.’ Their eyes meet and they smile, Mohinder’s lids fluttering closed as Matt teases at his perineum with the gun. He forces himself to open them wide once more, wanting to admire and ogle Matt’s body. ‘Let me see you,’ he pleads.

 

Mohinder watches over his shoulder as Matt steps back. He places the gun on the bedside table and pulls out the lube and a condom, leaving them on the edge of the bed for later. Matt is still fully dressed, save for his open fly, his trousers and boxers pushed down just low enough on his hips to let his cock stand free. Slowly, he starts to unbutton his shirt. Mohinder’s mouth goes dry as Matt’s solid chest comes into view. His eyes dart everywhere, unable to settle on just one part of the glorious body that makes his heart race and his dick ache. He wants to press his face to Matt’s broad shoulders and sink his teeth into his delicious pale skin. Mohinder wants to leave red welts of ownership as he nips and bites, sucks and tongues his way over every part of him. He wants to tease his fingers over Matt’s pink nipples, so very different from his own. Matt likes them stroked, rubbed and licked where Mohinder wants to be bitten, twisted and pulled. His fingers twitch. He wants to play with Matt’s dark chest hair, twist it around his fingertips and card his fingers through it. He strains against the handcuffs once more. Being restrained and denied what he desires so fervently, that which is usually his to have whenever he wants, only makes his cock feel fuller and his balls grow tighter.

 

Matt moves to unfasten the holster and slip his open shirt from his shoulders but Mohinder whines. ‘Leave it on. Please.’ His voice is a desperate, broken whisper and Matt smiles at his tone. It is a wicked, sinful leer. Mohinder’s breath catches as Matt strokes the leather straps. He skims his palm down his chest and over his stomach, the soft flesh yielding just enough to make Mohinder want to scream to be released so that it can be his hands caressing him there. Matt’s fingers brush over the coarse curls at his base, but skirt just short of touching his cock. Then, he is shoving his trousers down and kicking the material away, standing bare except for the shirt and holster, solely for Mohinder’s pleasure.

 

‘Tell me, Mohinder,’ Matt rumbles, fondling the holster once more, ‘how many times did you jerk off, hiding in here and touching this?’

 

Mohinder flushes and looks away. He drops he head down, biting his lip as a mixture of shame and arousal swirl in his gut.

 

‘Look at me, Mohinder.’ He scrunches his eyes shut and cracks his neck, before turning back to look over his shoulder. He gasps. With one hand Matt continues to finger the leather and with the other he firmly strokes himself. Mohinder’s jaw drops at the sight and he finds himself swallowing rapidly to keep from salivating. Matt’s grip is confident and there is no trace of disgust or embarrassment as he pleasures himself. ‘Don’t be shy, Mohinder. Tell me. How often did you do this? Hmmm?’ He pauses his ministrations and looks Mohinder directly in the eye. ‘You may as well admit it. I’ve already seen it all in your mind.’

 

‘Just once,’ Mohinder confesses quietly. Matt starts to rub his dick, lazily, once more. Like every other part of him, Matt’s cock is just that much thicker and just that much longer compared to Mohinder. He can’t help but stare as Matt’s fist glides up and down his shaft, his thumb skating over the flushed head and spreading his pre-come down his length. Matt is breathing more deeply now and when he speaks, he voice is strained. ‘Tell me how, Mohinder.’

 

Mohinder sits back on his haunches, his ass resting on his heels. He twists at the waist, the better to see Matt as he speaks and watch his display. He licks his lips and casts his mind back to that quiet Saturday morning when to Mohinder’s mortification he had let his obsession get the best of him. One fantasy too far and he had been left to shuffle to the bathroom awkwardly, his back to the living room as he passed and the crotch of his pyjamas soaked through with his own come.

 

‘I…’ Mohinder starts slowly. Matt nods in encouragement, his fingers moving quicker at the sound of his voice. ‘I snuck in here. I mumbled something about needing to lie down or getting dressed but you didn’t seem to take notice. You were sitting on the couch with Molly, engrossed in something. SpongeBob? Those powder puff things?’

 

‘Powerpuff Girls,’ Matt automatically corrects. His voice holds the same hint of exasperation that Molly’s does when Mohinder invariably mangles the name or premise of her beloved morning cartoons. For a second they just stare at each other incredulously, and then they are overcome with uncontrollable laughter. Mohinder snorts as he tries to suppress the noise, not wanting to wake Molly and risk her wandering in to catch an inappropriate eyeful. Matt’s hand falls from his dick and, still chuckling, he climbs onto the bed behind Mohinder. He gently turns him so that his back rests against Matt’s torso. Mohinder can feel Matt’s hardness pressing into the side of his ass and as Matt snakes an arm around his chest, tweaking a nipple, Mohinder rocks his hips back. Matt groans. The laughter is gone from his voice. Groping Mohinder’s chest, he presses his lips to his ear. ‘Keep talking.’

 

Matt lowers Mohinder down onto his front. He snatches the pillows from the head of the bed, nestling one under Mohinder’s stomach and letting him rest the side of his head on the other. He shifts back and lifts Mohinder by the hips. He nudges his legs apart and positions him on his knees. Mohinder lets himself be rearranged and tries desperately to gather his thoughts while Matt’s hands stroke and explore. ‘I shut the door and turned to grab the holster, but it wasn’t on the bedpost where you usually leave it. My heart was racing. I couldn’t think. I thought maybe…’ Matt hums in encouragement when Mohinder’s voice falters. He drops to a low whisper, ‘I thought maybe you’d found out. Hidden it. I thought you were disgusted but didn’t want to say anything.’

 

Mohinder’s gut cramps as he vividly recalls the feeling, his whole body suddenly tense. But then, Matt’s hands were there, rubbing his back and kissing up Mohinder’s spine. ‘I could never think you’re disgusting,’ he murmurs in reassurance, tugging his earlobe between his teeth. Mohinder could feel Matt’s shirt and the holster pressing into his back, interrupting the encompassing presence of Matt’s skin against his own. He brushes the hair back from Mohinder’s brow and peppers kisses on his face until Mohinder relaxes beneath him.

 

‘I looked around, desperate to find it. You’d left it on the chest of the drawers. I’ve never _ungh_—’ The words dry up on Mohinder’s tongue and he loses his train of thought as the pad of Matt’s thumb rubs slickly against his opening. Matt strokes his puckered flesh, circling his hole and pressing against it. He taps Mohinder on the ass, more of a pat than a smack, to remind him to keep talking. ‘I was so relieved. My hands were trembling but all I could think about was how much time I’d wasted freaking out. I was hard. _Oh god_, I was so hard, Matt, before I even had my hands on it. Then when I did, _fuck_, I thought I could come just from holding it. I…’ Mohinder trails off, shaking his head.

 

Matt’s thumb pushes into him, stretching him open. ‘You rubbed your face against it,’ Matt continues for him, describing what he had seen in Mohinder’s memories. ‘Then you reached down and slipped it into your pyjamas. Touched yourself with the leather. What did it feel like against your dick, Mohinder?’

 

‘Wrong. It felt so bad and dirty. I felt so guilty but Matt… _Oh shit, Matt_, it felt so good too.’ Matt slides his other thumb beside his first. With both he rubs Mohinder inside, relaxing him and spreading him wide. ‘All I could think about was this. You pinning me down, tying me up and fucking me hard and deep. I imagined you pushing your gun into my neck and I came, just like that. No warning, just one knee-trembling, indescribable orgasm. _God_, Matt, I was so ashamed. I was such a mess and terrified you would walk in and catch me like that.’

 

‘Wish I had,’ Matt mutters, slipping his thumbs free and pressing in again with three wet fingers. ‘Would’ve licked you clean and fucked you raw.’ He punctuates every word with a twist of his hand; brushing over Mohinder’s prostate and making him bite at the pillow.

 

‘Now, Matt! Please, I need you now!’

 

Matt pulls his fingers free and Mohinder thinks he must set a world record, rolling on the condom and lubing his cock in what seems like no time at all. He pushes inside in one long, deep thrust, rotating his hips against Mohinder’s ass when he is in to the hilt. Mohinder muffles his cries in the pillow. He rolls his shoulders, his arms tensing and pulling against the handcuffs, instinctively wanting to reach out to Matt or to reach down and fondle his own dick.

 

Matt lifts him by the shoulders and Mohinder lets his head fall back to rest against Matt’s neck. Matt’s hips are rocking, his movements getting more forceful and more pronounced with each thrust. He is pulling and twisting Mohinder’s nipples, dragging his hands lower and caressing his inner thighs. The handcuffs are biting into Mohinder’s wrists as his arms are trapped uncomfortably between their bodies. He hardly notices the pain, though, so overcome is he by the growing heat in his groin. Matt is playing with his balls. He pets them tenderly with his thumb, weighing and rolling them on his palm. Mohinder is writhing and whimpering, small desperate sighs falling from his lips, as he begs, wholly beyond being capable of words.

 

Matt finally wraps his hand around Mohinder’s cock and just like that shameful morning, with only a few short strokes, Mohinder is blindsided by his orgasm. His body shakes and his vision blurs. Matt slaps his hand over Mohinder’s mouth, grunting when he sinks his teeth into his palm. He comes in hot spurts, soiling Matt’s hand and striping the pillow below him. Matt holds him up, letting his head loll back against his shoulder until his body stops convulsing and his jaw relaxes. Mohinder’s warm, wet tongue is soothing his palm and he can hear him swear breathlessly into his skin. He drops his hand back to Mohinder’s hip and as the other man balances, slumped onto his chest, he slowly starts to thrust once more.

 

Mohinder’s head rolls forward. Aftershocks are shooting through him as Matt hits his prostate with every push and fondles his softening dick with his now wet hand. The sensations are too much and it’s starting to feel like exquisite torture. He clenches his fists against Matt’s stomach and moans his name in something close to agony. Matt’s hand drops away. With one arm braced on the bed and the other around his chest, he lowers Mohinder back to the mattress.

 

He rests for a moment and catches his breath. Then, as best as he can with his arms cuffed behind him, he begins to fuck himself on Matt’s cock. He hears Matt say his name. It is a hoarse, strangled moan. Matt grips him by the hips and slides Mohinder’s body back and forth over his cock. Mohinder’s stomach is being coated with his own spunk as he is dragged over the soiled pillow but he doesn’t care. The fingers on his hips dig deeper into his skin, and he is made to ride Matt’s dick harder and faster. One deep thrust and then Matt is coming.

 

Matt pulls out and collapses beside him. They share the pillow and trade soft kisses as their pulses slow. Matt’s face is flushed, and his hair is sweat-damp, pushed back from his forehead as he runs his fingers through it. He strokes the back of his hand down the side of Mohinder’s face, earning him a small sigh as the other man nuzzles into his touch. With a groan, he climbs off the bed, disposes of the condom and retrieves the key to the handcuffs from their chest of drawers. Matt uncuffs Mohinder, turning him over gently to lie on his back before he strips off his shirt and holster.

 

Mohinder stares down the length of his own body: he is a complete mess, covered in his own come and sweat. He doesn’t have the energy to clean himself, though. Mohinder feels completely and utterly sated. It is as if, with one blinding orgasm, he has purged his body of all the tension, anxiety and sexual frustration that has been building up. He holds out his arms to Matt, pulling him down again beside him. Matt cradles one of his wrists in his palm and hisses at the red rawness that encircles it. He soothes the damaged flesh with a cautious tongue. Mohinder lets him lave his skin, settling back in the sheets with a contented moan.

 

‘You’ll have to wear long sleeves for awhile. Sorry.’ Matt kisses him tenderly up his arm, licking at his inner elbow and moving up to rest his forehead against Mohinder’s shoulder. Mohinder strokes his hair with a drowsy chuckle. ‘It was worth it.’

 

‘Don’t let Molly see, or you’re on your own with the awkward questions.’

 

Mohinder shudders at the thought, cuddling closer to Matt. His eyes feel heavy and he is close to sleep. ‘I think I’ll pass on giving her the sex talk,’ he decides.

 

‘It figures,’ Matt mutters. There is a hint of bitterness in his voice and he rolls away from Mohinder’s body to lie on his back, staring straight at the ceiling. Mohinder’s stomach drops and he is suddenly completely awake. He holds his breath and doesn’t dare to move. There is a thick tension in the room that he cannot explain.

 

‘Matt?’ He asks timidly. His reaches out to Matt but at the last second decides against it and pulls his hand back, wrapping his arms protectively around his chest. ‘What’s wrong?’

 

‘Do you have any idea what kind of hell I’ve been through the past few weeks?’ Despite his words, Matt’s voice doesn’t seem angry, exactly. He sounds beyond anger – resigned, distant, cold. He props himself up on his elbows and regards Mohinder. For the only time since they had first come together as lovers, Mohinder feels uncomfortable in his nudity. He throws the sheet over himself, but it does nothing to dispel how exposed and vulnerable he feels under Matt’s unwavering gaze. ‘You’ve been distracted and distant. Evading me whenever I tried to figure out what was bothering you… Jesus, Mohinder. I’ve been steeling myself for a conversation that includes the words “we need to talk” and “it’s not you, it’s me,” when you’ve just been freaking out because you wanna fuck around with my handcuffs in bed?’

 

‘I’m sorry…’ Mohinder trails off. He can feel his own anger building. Why did Matt have to ruin this by picking an argument? Hadn’t Matt seen and felt everything that Mohinder had been going through when he looked inside his mind? For someone who had supposedly been through hell, Matt had been nothing but eager to shove Mohinder into the bedroom and fuck him like he’d begged to be fucked. Before those words can trip, spiteful and furious, off his tongue, Matt continues. ‘That was a one off.’

 

Mohinder feels like he’s been punched in the gut. Everything that he has been afraid of is coming to pass. He sits up and pulls the sheets more tightly around himself. He feels deceived and betrayed. He would never have agreed to do this if he had known Matt found it so distasteful. Mohinder contemplates getting up and walking out of the room, separating himself from the harsh reality of the situation. But he knows that in the end he would only toss and turn on the couch, unable to sleep for his festering resentment. The longer they sit in silence, the more livid he becomes. To dangle this in front of Mohinder as something he can never have again is a malicious, passive-aggressive trick and one he hadn’t ever imagined Matt would pull. In the darkest corner of his mind he suddenly wonders how much of Matt’s divorce had been the result of his own selfish actions.

 

 ‘Well, you certainly _seemed_ to be enjoying yourself,’ he snits when he can no longer hold back his emotions. That, he realises, is the crux of the matter. If Matt can fool him so completely into thinking he had been enjoying himself then what else could and would Matt fool him about: how much he loved him? If he loved him at all?

 

Matt has gotten up and, slipping on a fresh pair of boxers, paces the room. He glares at Mohinder incredulously. ‘For fucks sake, Mohinder, I’m not talking about the sex.’ He hisses the last word under his breath, catching himself as his voice starts to rise. They pause and listen, but Molly doesn’t stir. ‘If you wanna be tied up, tied down, spanked, slapped, whatever – I’m up for that. But this isn’t about the sex, this is about the fact that you are so incapable of communicating that you drove us both insane for nearly a month! I shouldn’t have to read your mind to understand you. If we can’t even speak honestly about this then what hope do we have?’

 

Matt sits on the edge of the bed and holds his head in his hands. His final words are spoken with a desperate helplessness that mirrors what Mohinder feels exactly. Where before he had been consumed with rage, now he is filled with remorse. He lays a hand tenderly on Matt’s shoulder. ‘I’m sorry, Matt. I… I was scared. I love you so much and I just… I didn’t want to make you do something you might not want to do.’

 

‘I love you too, Mohinder.’ Matt turns to face him. His jaw is set. ‘But I also loved Janice and I know she loved me back. Mohinder, love on its own isn’t enough. I wish it was but I have a failed marriage that tells me it isn’t. We’re going to have enough problems with two demanding, dangerous jobs and raising Molly without making it harder for ourselves. For someone who thinks so much about fate and… what was it? Kismet? You don’t have much faith in us if you think wanting to try something kinky is going to drive me away.’

 

With a sigh, Matt stands. He picks up the gun from the bedside table and fishes the bullets from the pocket of his soiled suit trousers. He stares at the revolver in his palm for a moment then mutters, ‘I’m gonna lock this away and take a shower.’

 

Mohinder watches him leave and then slumps back against the sheets. Matt is moving quietly in the hall, placing the gun in the safe. His every muted movement is all Mohinder can focus on. He feels so lost and confused. The clock catches his eye and he can hardly believe it is only one am. It feels as if an eternity has passed and a thousand conflicting emotions have been experienced.


	4. Chapter 4

Everything had been turned on its head as they snapped and hissed, arguing under their breath. It is as if they have reverted back to those wretched, tense months following Kirby Plaza – months when they had been too concerned with Molly’s safety and saving the world to really care how much or how deeply they damaged one another. It has taken time for their shared love of Molly to extend to each other and time for their mutual gratitude to become real friendship. Time in which Mohinder’s simple compassion for another human being blossomed into something deeper. He doesn’t understand how it has all unravelled in just one evening.  

Matt’s words echo in his thoughts: _you don’t have much faith in us_.

  
  


As he scratches at the tacky, drying come on his abdomen and feels the lube growing cold and sticky between his legs, he thinks that Matt has a bloody cheek to hurl that accusation at him. Isn’t Matt the one who seems utterly fixated in seeing Janice’s flaws in everything Mohinder does? _He_ has never had a problem with Matt’s career nor can _he_ ever imagine himself succumbing to adultery. It is starting to rankle that he has to defend himself against crimes that he has not, nor will he ever, commit.

  
  


At the same time Mohinder has to admit that perhaps he isn’t in a position to judge. Isn’t he, at this exact moment, laying stock still, hardly daring to breathe, lest some action of his irrevocably tear them apart? And isn’t it that fear, his ever present nagging concern that with just one misstep this happy house of cards that they have built will come tumbling down, the very reason they are arguing in the first place? Mohinder may be stubborn and he may be obstinate but he is also analytical, and he can spot a pattern when it emerges.

  
  


He sits up with a groan. He feels physically and emotionally exhausted but it is not enough to simply acknowledge his part in what has happened. He needs to find a solution. Try as he might, he can’t gather his thoughts. All he can focus on is the sound of the shower. Matt hasn’t showered at night in months. Not since the days when finding the two of them in the apartment at the same time had been a rare and awkward circumstance. Back then, as if by unspoken mutual agreement, Mohinder had had the privilege of a morning routine. It was his home after all and Matt was, then, merely a house guest.

  
  


While Mohinder showered, Matt would dole out breakfast cereal and hustle Molly to school. At night, while Mohinder worked at his desk, Matt would commandeer the bathroom, sidestepping their stilted small talk and creating breathing space in the oppressively small apartment. Matt would emerge, face flushed from the hot water and hair, damp and dishevelled. On cue, Mohinder would make his excuses and retire to the sanctuary of his bedroom. After Nathan’s death and when Sylar failed to return, the constant stress and fear had slowly leached from their lives. Then, Matt’s shower was taken later and later as small talk became conversation and Mohinder began to push aside work to spend time joking with Matt. They found themselves talking late into the night after Molly had gone to bed. It had seemed natural then to adjust their morning routine.

  
  


Despite the way he had lamented the loss of his long, sweltering showers, Mohinder had found himself enjoying how often they stood doubled up at the sink brushing teeth and washing faces. So much so that when he travelled, he began to miss jostling Matt’s solid form to reach for the toothpaste months before their relationship progressed beyond the platonic.

  
  


Nothing changed when they became lovers. Mohinder is lethargic after sex. He wants to wrap his arms around Matt and fall asleep in the warmth of his embrace, fishing a shirt or a pair of boxers from the floor to wipe the semen haphazardly from their skin. Matt is less enthused about sleeping in the mess of their own making. But every night, after letting him change the sheets, Mohinder will tumble Matt back into the bed and refuse to let him up to shower. They fall asleep, tangled together, as Matt whispers in his ear, ‘dirty boy.’Now, even as he feels his skin pull tight under the prickle of his drying come, Mohinder can’t bring himself to clean up the evidence of what they have shared tonight. It angers him that Matt can sluice it all away as easily as his cutting words had washed away their afterglow.

  
  


When Mohinder hears the quiet knock at the bedroom door, he flinches, pulling the blankets around himself and hurriedly sliding the lube and the handcuffs into the drawer of his bedside table. It takes him a moment to realise that while he has been lost in his thoughts, coming to no conclusion at all, the shower has been shut off. He relaxes knowing that it is Matt not Molly about to enter, then tenses again in anticipation of what is to come.

  
  


‘Yes?’ he calls out in a hoarse stage whisper. Matt pushes the door open gingerly, holding it up by the knob to keep the hinges from squeaking. ‘Molly’ he mouths, jerking his head in the direction of the hall, suggesting she isn’t as deeply asleep as they both would hope. The last thing she needs is to overhear an argument. Mohinder doesn’t ever want her to feel unsafe in this apartment again.

  
  


Neither of them speaks. Matt is dressed for bed, towelling his wet hair dry and refusing to meet Mohinder’s eyes. Clearing his throat Matt hands him a damp, warm washcloth and he mumbles his thanks, unable to bring himself to break the uncomfortable silence. Matt hovers awkwardly in front of him, his lips moving as he searches for something to say. ‘I’ll, uh, change the sheets,’ is all he can eventually come up with.

  
  


Still wrapped in the soiled blanket, Mohinder moves out of his way, standing with his back to Matt and facing their chest of drawers. As he cleans his stomach and groin of the accumulated mess of semen, lube and sweat, he tries to think positive, pleased that Matt was considerate enough to bring him a washcloth. At the same time he can’t ignore the fact that in the heavy quiet of the room, he feels too uncomfortable and too vulnerable to drop the protective shield of the blanket. He hates feeling this way around Matt and hates that he really has no one to blame but himself.

  
  


Mohinder slips into a clean pair of boxers and as he turns around, he hears Matt chuckle to himself. Matt is kneeling on the bed. Fresh sheets have been laid down and he has snatched the pillows from the head of the bed to change the cases. As Mohinder looks up inquisitively, his lips quirk into a grin and he flips the pillow around to show Mohinder the soiled side. It is the one that had been supporting Mohinder’s stomach as they made love, now thoroughly coated with his dried semen. He can feel the heat rising to his cheeks as Matt leers at him and Mohinder climbs on the bed on his knees and snatches the pillow from Matt’s hands.

  
  


‘Looks like you had a good time,’ Matt whispers. Mohinder stares at the soiled linen letting Matt’s voice wash over him. The joke is weak and the humour in his voice is covering his emotions with only the thinnest of layers. He doesn’t have to read Matt’s mind to know what the words really mean: _please tell me you still want me_; _I didn’t mean to fuck this up_; _I need you_.

  
  


He looks up. Matt is smiling brightly but Mohinder can see it for the façade that it is – he knows Matt well enough by now to see the crinkle between his eyebrows that usually comes from a frustrating day at work and the way he is biting at the inside of his cheek, just as he does when he worries Molly has done something reckless. Mohinder stares into his eyes, searching his expression for a cue as to what to do next. In the end he just strokes Matt’s cheek, his skin so smooth and soft, with the back of his hand and quietly replies, ‘I did.’ _I love you_. _Don’t leave me_. _Tell me how to fix this_.

  
  


Mohinder doesn’t know who leans in first or who is pulling who close but with those simple words that mean both nothing and everything the tension is broken. They whisper, ‘I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,’ over and over as their mouths come together again and again in quick breathless kisses. The pillow is dropped to the bed beneath them, crushed between their knees as they inch closer together. Mohinder is clutching at Matt’s shoulders until he is sure there are marks and Matt’s hands are fisting in his hair until Mohinder’s scalp tingles with the prickling pull but they don’t care, they can’t let go. Already they have been too long apart and how long has it really been? Fifteen minutes, an hour, an eternity? It seems longer and now Mohinder can’t bear the thought of releasing Matt from his embrace or from his kiss, not even to breathe or to tell him how much he loves him.

  
  


Their kisses are hungrier now and the word ‘sorry’ has become a long, needy moan escaping their lips. They press their chests together, fitting together just as perfectly as they did before and Mohinder lets out a sigh he didn’t know he had been holding back. Maybe nothing has changed; perhaps they are still in sync. But as they tug at one another’s lips and they caress each other’s bodies, possessively, territorially, jealously, Matt’s chest hair presses damply against Mohinder’s nipples, teasing them with the coarseness, the chill and the wetness. Then Mohinder realises that as much as he wants this: to fall back onto the bed, to push Matt down and take him roughly to stake his claim and mark him as Mohinder’s; when their bodies stop shaking and their minds assert control once more nothing will have been resolved.

  
  


Mohinder pushes on Matt’s shoulders, breaking away with as much conviction as he can muster. A part of him, a large part of him, he admits, wants Matt to refuse to release him. It is so much easier to just pretend that ‘I’m sorry’ has fixed it all and to follow his body where it wants to lead him. Mohinder has faced down Sylar, he has outsmarted Bennet, and thought on his feet to save the ones he loves and himself more times than he can count, but still this moment seems more critical and more pivotal than any that have gone before. He draws on what Matt had said in spite: _you don’t have much faith in us, do you? _And he wants to prove Matt wrong because on this he knows that Matt will be happy to stand corrected. Above all else, Mohinder knows that the time has come to make that blind leap, logic and control be damned, to lay his soul bare and trust in Matt to keep him whole. It takes all his inner strength to finally pull his lips from Matt’s, letting himself dip back again to nip at the corners of his mouth just one more time before, with a sigh, he holds Matt back.

  
  


‘I’m sorry,’ they say again in unison and this time they laugh. They relax back against the bed, the soiled pillow thrown across the room to land with a soft _thump_ on the pile of bedclothes to be washed. They sit, side by side, with their backs against the headboard and their legs out straight. Matt takes Mohinder’s hand in his own, lacing their fingers together and twisting him by the wrist to examine the wire-thin cuts from the handcuffs. He is frowning again and Mohinder knows it is not from the sight of the injury or regret for what they had done earlier but from the weight of the conversation they cannot seem to start. ‘We should talk,’ Mohinder whispers. His voice cracks a little and he clears his throat, saying more decisively this time, ‘we need to talk.’

  
  


‘I know,’ Matt says but he doesn’t look up. The fingers of his other hand come to skim over Mohinder’s knuckles and stroke his skin until Mohinder sighs at the delicate touch. Matt draws his hand back with a start, looking up guiltily and Mohinder realises that the other man had been lost deep in his thoughts, barely aware that he has been touching Mohinder for comfort. It seems so natural and loving, and it fills Mohinder with a hope he didn’t know he had been lacking.

  
  


‘I’m not Janice.’ He says the words firmly and clearly. One of them has to take the plunge and with a sudden reckless belief that everything will be alright after all, Mohinder decides to cut to the heart of the matter. ‘Please don’t make me pay for her mistakes.’

  
  


Matt looks up with a weak smile. He looks so lost and confused. There is nothing of the calm mask he employs for work nor the light-hearted manner he uses with Molly and Mohinder thinks that this is the most naked he has ever seen his lover. Mohinder doesn’t believe in the gods of his family’s religion or the God of Matt’s but still he prays to anything and everything that might listen that soon he will be able to say the words, ‘it’s ok,’ that press so urgently at his lips and have them be true. But for now he holds his tongue. They have to admit that they are broken before they can be fixed.

  
  


‘Mohinder…’ Matt starts slowly and Mohinder resists the urge to interrupt or hurry him along. ‘Janice and I were happy.’ He chuckles ruefully, scratching the back of his head and shrugging his shoulders. ‘It seems hard to believe but we were and then somewhere, somehow, along the line everything fell apart.’

  
  


He pauses and Mohinder strokes his arms as Matt recalls the painful memories of what has gone before and figures out what it is exactly he needs Mohinder to understand. ‘But I still don’t know how. There wasn’t one thing. We didn’t just wake up and hate each other. That scares me, Mohinder. I loved her so much and it slipped away from under my nose. And now I love you, more than I thought was possible, but how can I stop it from happening again if I don’t know what went wrong?’ Mohinder draws Matt into his arms and wraps him in a tight embrace.

  
  


‘Promise me,’ Matt mumbles into his hair. ‘Promise me that won’t happen to us.’

  
  


‘I can’t,’ Mohinder says, softly, because it’s the truth. He feels Matt tense and they pull apart, a mixture of anger, confusion and pure despair playing across Matt’s features. But Mohinder needs to be honest now because Matt has been right from the start, this isn’t kismet or fate or destiny but perhaps it doesn’t need to be for it to be love and for them to be happy. ‘I can’t promise we’ll be together forever, Matt. But I can tell you that the thought that I’d destroyed everything with my selfishness and my…’ He throws his hands in the air to make a general gesture to convey all the negative qualities he saw in himself: pride, single-mindedness, an inability to communicate. ‘Thinking I’d thrown it all away, lost you, was the worst fear I’ve ever experienced.’

  
  


Matt smiles at him but he doesn’t look mollified. Mohinder grabs his chin and forces his head up, forces their eyes to meet so that Matt knows his words are sincere. ‘I love you, Matt, but I can’t predict the future. I can’t promise we’re going to live happily ever after but right now I really, really hope we do.’ He kisses Matt, slowly and softly, barely a brush of tongues as they press their foreheads together.

  
  


‘I can promise that I’ll never do what Janice did. As much as it hurts to think about, if it comes to it, I’ll end it.’ Mohinder closes his eyes as he says the last words because he feels as if he has handed his fate to Matt and even a condemned man gets a blindfold.

  
  


‘Thank you,’ Matt whispers in his ear. Mohinder lets out a shuddery sigh of relief and as Matt brushes his thumb below his cheeks, Mohinder realises his eyes are wet with emotion too. He quickly swipes the back of his hand over them and sniffs, far louder than he intended to. They laugh together at the sound and Mohinder knows his prayers have been answered by whatever benevolent gods had been listening. They are kissing again but now their eyes are open and the desperation is gone. There is no need to prove that this is right or that they belong to each other. Those are facts already in evidence, proven time and again by the beat of their hearts and the breath in their lungs.

  
  


Mohinder pulls back. There is one more apology he needs to make, one more explanation to give before everything can go back to how it should be. ‘And I know I completely bollocksed everything up by not talking to you in the first place.’

  
  


Matt laughs at the British turn of phrase and Mohinder smiles, squeezing his hand to hold his attention. ‘I made a mistake.’ His voice turns low and serious. ‘A big mistake and I’m sorry. I want to say I’ll never do it again but…’

  
  


‘You’re not perfect?’ Matt supplies.

  
  


‘I’m not perfect,’ Mohinder agrees in a whisper. He is suddenly melancholy as he is reminded of how he was never good enough for his father, never good enough for Mira and he tries not to wonder how long it will be until Matt starts to think he is not good enough either. ‘I’m not perfect,’ he repeats.

  
  


This time it is Matt who tilts Mohinder’s chin up and holds his gaze. ‘You don’t have to be perfect for me to love you.’

  
  


There is a warmth in Mohinder’s chest that grows and glows at Matt’s words, spoken so sincerely that even Mohinder, in all his cynicism and self doubt, is forced to conclude they must be true. It means so much more than if Matt had insisted _you’re perfect to me_.

  
  


‘And do you love me?’ he asks, thankful the words don’t catch in his throat.

  
  


‘Yes.’

  
  


‘And do you forgive me?’

  
  


‘Yes.’

  
  


‘I love you too.’

  
  


This time when they kiss, Mohinder pulls Matt on top of him. He wants to feel Matt above him and around him, to lie for once completely at the other man’s mercy. It is a final act of penance and absolution. Matt is running his fingers through Mohinder’s hair, twisting a curl around his finger as his lips brush softly along his forehead. Mohinder is licking at his neck and holding him close with his hands on his hips. Smiling against Matt’s skin, the familiar taste of his sweat and his soap on Mohinder’s tongue, Mohinder slips his hands down the back of Matt’s boxers and cups his ass.

  
  


Matt groans at the touch and at the feel of Mohinder growing hard again beneath him. They grind together slowly, luxuriating in the feel of each other’s bodies. He pulls back, dropping one last kiss to Mohinder’s lips before propping himself up on his elbows to study Mohinder’s face. ‘Are we ok?’

  
  


‘We’re ok,’ Mohinder confirms, chasing his words with a peck to the tip of Matt’s nose.

  
  


They smile goofily at each other almost shaking with relief now that the danger has truly passed. Matt tries to flip them over, to let Mohinder take the position he loves so much but Mohinder resists, holding Matt firmly to his chest.

  
  


‘Like this,’ he pleads. He tugs Matt’s boxers down and wriggles to help Matt get his own down and off. Mohinder takes them both in his hand, pressing their half-hard cocks together against his palm and caressing them until Matt is rubbing himself along Mohinder’s dick. Now they are both hard and Matt’s knee is between his legs pushing his thighs apart. All Mohinder can do is surge up into him, rock his body against Matt’s mass of muscle and flesh until they both cry out but for once it doesn’t seem stifling or constricting, it feels safe.

  
  


Matt is stroking his ass, running his finger around his hole and Mohinder flinches. He doesn’t mean to, the touch is feather light and sets off sparks of pleasure that shoot to his core with every patch of skin Matt fondles, but he is still sore from the rough way they had made love earlier. Mohinder bites his lip. He is angry with himself because he knows he will have to ask Matt to stop. He never gets the chance because Matt is pulling his hand away already and kissing the frown from Mohinder’s face. Mohinder tries to turn his face away so that he can apologise or explain but Matt won’t let him. He wants to assure Matt that he still wants him more than anything but that he simply can’t, not right now. The sex had never been as hard, as deep or as fast as it had been earlier and Mohinder curses his body for being inferior to the task.

  
  


‘It’s ok,’ Matt mumbles into his mouth and the tension drains from Mohinder’s shoulders as he knows that Matt is right. They have tomorrow and the next day and the next to do this and perhaps Mohinder doesn’t need to sacrifice himself as one last proof of his love for Matt. Maybe Matt wouldn’t want his sacrifice anyway, he thinks, as Matt grins at him and flips over, his head to Mohinder’s groin. Mohinder knows that it isn’t about who was right and who was wrong any more. Matt is pressing his lips to his length and Mohinder shifts to tilt Matt’s cock towards him and lick the tip. It isn’t about making up to each other for their faults and their mistakes or rewarding one another for offering forgiveness; it is about being together again, whole and in love.

  
  


They are kissing, licking and sucking. Mohinder is groaning, his fingers digging into Matt’s hips and groping along his thighs and stomach. When his lips enclose Matt’s length, he can feel his own erection enveloped in the hot, wet tightness of Matt’s mouth. They are moving against each other now, hips snapping and rolling in time. Mohinder can tell that the flood of pleasure in his chest, his groin and his legs has spread to Matt’s body too because his muscles are tensing. Mohinder clamps his lips down tighter and bobs his head quicker. He draws on everything that Matt has taught him to do, focuses on what Matt likes best and when Matt’s come coats the back of his throat in hot, thick pulses, he swallows with such a sense of contentment that for a moment Mohinder forgets that his own orgasm hasn’t come yet.

  
  


But Matt is not so forgetful. He guides Mohinder onto his back and pins his hips to the bed. Matt takes him in deep, the head of his dick is brushing the back of Matt’s throat and they moan in unison. Matt’s moan just makes Mohinder’s moan deeper, more desperate as the vibrations hum along his cock and Matt lets him thrust in and out, in and out, until he too is peaking.

  
  


Matt collapses back on the bed, panting. Mohinder’s whole body is trembling and he feels utterly incapable of coherent thought, speech or movement. Matt tickles his foot but he can’t muster the energy to squirm away from the touch. His hand wraps around Mohinder’s ankle and he tugs on Mohinder’s leg until he yelps in protest. ‘Toss me a pillow, please.’

  
  


Groaning, Mohinder pulls the pillow from beneath his head and hugging it to his chest he heaves himself up and throws himself to the foot of the bed beside Matt. They snuggle together, sleepily kissing and gathering the blankets around them. Mohinder has enough presence of mind to worry what Molly will think when she wakes them in the morning, sprawled at the end of the bed, nude and dishevelled. But she is a resilient child, more so than Mohinder had ever been and he thinks that maybe it won’t faze her at all. He hopes not because he is entirely unable to move again tonight.

  
  


‘We should fight more often,’ Matt mumbles. His voice is heavy with sleep, his words half muffled by the pillow and Mohinder’s hair.

  
  


Mohinder shifts in his arms, pressing himself closer to Matt and marvelling that after everything his back still rests so perfectly against Matt’s chest. ‘What?’

  
  


‘The make up sex is fantastic.’

  


When they fall asleep, it is with a shared laughter on their lips. Mohinder fingers the abrasions around his wrists and he smiles to know that they will linger, a reminder of all that he and Matt have gone through tonight.


End file.
